


Glint

by quenive



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Sibling Incest, anal penetration, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenive/pseuds/quenive
Summary: Luigi doesn't complain about it, nor does he flinch away when the knife finally breaches his skin when it's down to his inner thigh. He just grits his teeth, then attempts to settle his breathing down so he can calmly address the situation."I can take a lot fucking more you slab of shit, and you god damn know it." Volume control was never his strong side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this movie took me places

If anyone else dared to even flash the glint of a blade in his direction, their eradication wouldn't be as brief and meaningless as the others. It wouldn't be another strand of hay in a gigantic stack; it would be the needle alone, giving itself up with the same glint which dared to get into the eyes of Luigi Largo. Then Luigi Largo would not hesitate to set the whole haystack on fire, and the whole crop field while he's at it. You don't just _glint_ at him. 

Digression aside, the tl;dr of the former is simple;  
you point a knife at Luigi, you die.

Unless you're his pretentious, spoiled, disgusting, smug, vain younger brother. Pavi has a gloved grip on the handle of Luigi's precious, favorite blade. Even with minimum facial movement, his expression radiates smugness and attitude. It's in his eyes, Luigi duly notes as his own pupils dilate when the tip of mentioned blade gets slid over his exposed right thigh. He watches it with wide eyes as it leaves a soft pink trail, not yet breaching the skin, eyebrows hoisting up to greet his hairline. If he dared to look up again, he'd risk seeing Amber's facial features mixed with familiar taunting male eyes. Disgusting. Horrifying. Die, die, die, fucking-

"Fuck," breathing out, he flashes Pavi a glare, but it instantly drops when it's greeted by Amber's smile. His hands are white-knuckling his brother's white shirt, wrinkling in the excruciating process. 

"What's the matter, brother dear? Can't take samples of your own medicine?" Luigi cooes. Thick accents don't sound pretty coming from her mouth, but the uncanny valley factor gets Luigi's boner nearly twitching down there, pressed between Pavi's thigh and his own stomach. He also kind of wishes the guy wasn't faking his speech. Is glamour worth all those misspoken syllables? 

Luigi spits in his - Amber's - face.

Ironically, that's something he always wanted to do. Pavi fails to even flinch at the spit spray, and continues to tangle his gloved fingers in Luigi's hair. Softer than one would imagine, it really is a massive contrast to the ever amplifying pressure he's putting to his brother's thigh, with the edge of the blade. Sharpened up for this special occasion which came after a very uncomfortable and "heart-filled" discussion, it's getting Luigi to leak pre without even being properly touched. 

Clothed knee digging into the mattress just below his crotch and the thigh fluctuating with pressure levels aside, Pavi's barely touching him, and the guy's a fucking mess. His younger brother looms over him, his slightly slimmer frame determined in its attempt to cover Luigi up. The knife takes a stroll upwards, sliding up his hip, and making an abrupt turn back down once it reaches his waist.

And it's been going on like that seemingly forever, the blade irritating his skin over and over again and again. Luigi doesn't complain about it, nor does he flinch away when it finally breaches his skin when it's down to his inner thigh. He just grits his teeth, then attempts to settle his breathing down so he can calmly address the situation. 

"I can take a lot fucking more you slab of shit, and you god damn know it." Volume control was never his strong side. He suddenly tugs forward on Pavi's shirt, jerking him closer to his face. If Pavi didn't let go of his hair to quickly brace himself with his hand, he would probably lose his balance and just collapse atop his sibling. "And I want to take it _now_ so shut that whore's mouth and _fuck_ me, Pavi."

Even if jabbing the knife into Luigi's thigh sounded amazing right about now, Pavi continues the blade's long hike to the north. This time, it leaves behind a long trail of red that keeps bubbling up. Luigi shuts his eyes and parts his lips to let out a shuddery exhale. Why was he such a bitch for pain?

"Nuh-uh-uhh," Pavi is taunting again. A finger wag would be extremely appropriate and classy but his hand is a little occupied at the moment. Luigi's eyes are closed, but he feels his brother pressing their foreheads together just as the knife comes to a halt a little below the side of his chest. "What is the magic word now, brother?"

Luigi wants it to continue, he wants it to slice him and color him in coppery red, red which he can already sense in his nostrils. Either that, or Amber's face is still a little bloody from the auction. Typical Pavi, trying his new merchandize on before he even gets to his own home properly. There's a reason Luigi stabbed the first three bidders, and there's a reason why they're barely out of their clothes (Pavi, though the same couldn't be said for his birthday suit butt-naked brother), sprawled all over Luigi's bed and coating it with fresh blood. 'My brother and sister should fuck' is a statement Pavi still clings to, a fantasy thought he's turning into reality, simultaneously making good use of Luigi's submission.

Speaking of which. Luigi's grip on Pavi's shirt looses its might, he forces his eyes open to meet the striking gaze of his younger sibling. Again, he notes how unnatural his subtle features seem under the face of their sister, how his eyes actually look.. hungry. Luigi feels pathetic, and he shows it. His hands fall limp, he turns his head to the side to look away from his brother. 

"Please." His face and shoulders are flushed with a light pink. Inwardly, he cusses his body for working like it does.

"Please what?" 

Obnoxious. Obnoxious and _ugly_ and gross and-

Luigi frowns and jerks his head forward. Caught slightly off guard, Pavi flinches but generally keeps his head in its place, a smile not seeming to leave his face. It's permanently there. Frowning is out of season, don't you know? Highly irritating & disturbing smiles are _in_ this year. 

"Please stick something other than that shitty knife into me before I peel your face off myself," scowling, the P's spurt out more spit onto Pavi's face. His expression doesn't shift much, but there's only a _glint_ in Pavi's eyes before jerks the knife upwards, again. It reaches just a tad below Luigi's armpit. He hisses, breathes out, sinks his head deeper into the pillow below. The next time he speaks, his voice lacks the edge. "Please."

There's a beautifully carved line stretching from his inner thigh, coiling around his leg, marking a path over his waist and reaching up to his armpit. It's gonna chafe under layers of clothes, especially with the fancy suit reputation he's bent on keeping. The new runner of GeneCo has to look his spiffiest, even if it means some blood soaking through his clothes.

There's a loud clang before Luigi realizes that Pavi has dropped the knife onto the floor. He sighs in relief as his ever present boner gets pressed on by Pavi's thigh. Friction, friction, friction. Black, custom tailored jeans provide an abundance of sensation, causing Luigi to limit a satisfied groan to his throat. He doesn't give Pavi the benefit of one, at least not yet.  


Pavi sits up. The friction is gone when he does, but Luigi's eyes get fixated on the way Pavi is elegantly taking his white gloves off. 

"Oh Luigi, my dear fratello, the light of my dark and gloomy world," peeling his left glove off, Pavi wiggles his eyebrows at his sibling. As much as he can, anyways. Luigi is flashing his pearly whites at him, snarling like a mutt. After his right glove is off, Luigi will soon learn that the underestimation of his younger brother takes him places he's never even dreamed of. "You gotta give give give before you can take take take. Do you not know how contra the world's industries work?"

Pavi looms over him again, and his cock gets the tinies bit of the attention it needs. Luigi's groans are still limited to his throat, but as stated, not for long. His brother makes sure of that when he presses his thumb into the cut wound in his thigh and begins tracing it up.

Tingles. Pain, sparks, tingles, all things in between. Luigi nearly coughs up some air from the sudden intrusion. They'd go well with the way his face grimaces with a mixture of pain and pleasure, both cooped up in a decorative box with a bow on top, gifted to Pavi. Pavi, whose thumb remains unimpeded by Luigi's sudden violent jerk of the thigh, and who's ready to unwrap the blood-red bow to claim his present.

That sadistic motherfucker.

"What do _you_ know about global industrialization?" Luigi chokes out. If he could, Pavi would raise his eyebrow at him. It doesn't stop him from trying, albeit effortlessly and without notable victory.

"Interesting pick of words." He presses a little harder when he gets to his waist, pauses for the second he's thinking the question through. "Many things, but an icon never reveals his secrets."

"Bullcrap." He feels the way Pavi's thumb is tracing up. His hands are unusually soft, but honestly, what else would you expect from a spoiled, sheltered brat? "You don't know shit."

"Or do I?" Pavi sticks his tongue out to lick his bottom lip. Luigi shudders, straight up shakes in his place when Pavi applies pressure at the very end of his finger's hike. He lifts it up and squints at it. A lovely gathering of red dripping down his thumb, wrist, threatening to soak his white shirt sleeve. No, Pavi Largo is no filthy swine. He brings his wrist to his mouth and licks up the strand of blood at the side of his hand, until he gets to his thumb. He puts it between his lips and sucks, Amber's cheeks hollowing out as he expertly demonstrates how good with his mouth he can get. All that, all while maintaining eye contact with Luigi.

Luigi, who's explicitly turned on, throws his head back and groans. The groan is neither sexual, longing, nor lustful. It radiates pure frustration, the inability to take that much teasing at once. Every strong man has his limits. Pavi is familiar with Luigi's, and he exploits them, sprawls them all over the proverbial table for his enjoyment. 

"You don't." Luigi's whisper lacks enthusiasm. The shifts in his intensity range from a scorching ragebeast to a broken, broken man. And true, he just happens to be the latter now, in the full mercy of his dear younger brother.

Pavi gives him no warning before he presses their lips together. Luigi's eyes widen for a second. It takes him that long to take in the information that Pavi's tongue was homewrecking his mouth, and another second for him to relax and accept it, reach a hand up to pathetically grip at the sides of Pavi's shirt, on the waist. He tastes his own blood, he tastes the chemicals on Amber's lips that were most likely used to preserve her face before someone bought it on the auction. 

Pavi grabs his cock. The action causes Luigi to moan like a slut on zydrate, full of breath and want and *need*. He kisses back, hungry and desperate, going deeper while Pavi's efforts shallow out. The mixture of emotions and tastes make his gut churn. His skin still stings and his balls were so close to turning indigo, bittersweet pain engulfs his being as a whole. 

Until Pavi pulls back, and Luigi clenches at his shirt, trying to pull him forward again. He wants to lick and bite his lips, he wants his own coppery taste to make him nauseous, and make his head spin with the way it's mixed with Pavi expertly pumping his dick. 

Pavi isn't nearly as shaken as his brother, who's already finding beads of sweat rolling down his face, leaving cooling damp trails itching for a scratch but in their desperation, finding none. What a time to think about how itchy your fucking face is, isn't it? Expressing his emotions just came naturally to Luigi. Does Pavi deserve the full package feel deal? It's difficult to say, and difficult to conclude. Pavi sits up again and reaches south. Luigi is clinging to his shirt with two fingers, wanting him closer in hopes of squeezing the life out of him.

Where did that bottle of lube come from? He does an inward double-take and decides that he doesn't really care. As long as he just gets it over with, and as long as Pavi just indulges him in his perfectly healthy middle aged guy kinks. Man, he's gonna owe his brother big time for such a sharp favor. His stomach disgustingly flutters when he thinks about all the things Pavi might have in mind later, when there's more time, when they're more alone. He thinks, but doesn't watch Pavi prep him with delicate fingers coated in slick lube.

His back arches, his breath stutters, and the whine in his voice slips out more and more. All aggression he had slips away in that little moment when he finally takes Pavi in, and when the other leans down to kiss him again. Skin slapping against thick fabric (it just comes to mind that he didn't even take his jeans off, sleazy fuck) and a face full of red, Luigi notices that every time he slips a moan, Pavi nips at his lower lip. Is he trying to keep him quiet? Are his brother's stiff, "artificial" lips sending an unspoken message? Luigi tones his sounds down to strained moans, and he feels as though Pavi's grin grew even wider. 

God, the way he thrusts into him, so skillfully and full of covered passion. The thudding sound - the slapping - almost.. almost sounds like a beat. Pavi starts humming. Luigi's head falls back.

"God damn it, Pavi," he whines. "Jesus hell. Not now."


End file.
